Chances
by teshara
Summary: Adoption bunny finds a home... WIKTT
1. Default Chapter

Hermione Granger sat in a sparse waiting room. She tried to stop her fingers from picking at the frayed and worn leather on the armrest, but failed. Her dress was worn and her coat threadbare. A secretary sat behind a short partition tapping on a typewriter that looked like it was a century ago. A dying potted plant sat on a low table, just short of allowing it any light through the dingy small window.

"Miss Granger?" a light voice called out from no discernable source. "Please go through the blue door."

Three doors with their glossy brilliant paint stood out in the office of beige and brown. One red, one blue, and one yellow. Hermione slowly rose to her feet, her back aching slightly. She reached for her bag and heaved it over her shoulder, it off balanced her a bit but she gained her footing and marched her form across the office to the blue door.

The doorknob was large and brass, but it turned easily. Hermione pulled on the door and stark white light flooded out as she opened the door. She stepped through and closed the door behind her.

"Hello, Miss Granger," a small dark skinned witch sat behind a dark wooden desk. A brass nameplate clearly read: _Henrietta Lyons._ Her dark hair was piled on her head and small gold rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Her green robes swished as she got to her feet to shake Hermione's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The walls, floor and ceiling were such a stark white in the windowless room the light seemed to magnify off them. Hermione wondered what charms were used to keep it so clean. A black leather chair sat before the desk for Hermione to sit on.

"Thank you," said Hermione.

"I assume you have already spoken to a healer?" Miss Lyons said as she sat back down. Hermione settled down into the new black chair. It crackled slightly as she adjusted her weight. It was becoming harder to become comfortable, lately.

"Yes," said Hermione. "The baby will come in October."

"That's five months away," said Miss Lyons. "You could change your mind."

"I doubt it," Hermione said flatly.

"Well," said Miss Lyons, her eyebrows raised. She pulled a drawer out and retrieved a scroll. "You should read through this form before you sign it."

Hermione reached out and took the thick scroll from the witch.

"This is quite extensive," Hermione said.

"Just covering the bases," said Miss Lyons brusquely. "Adoption can become a messy thing."

"I can imagine," said Hermione. The scroll had to be over five pages long.

"You don't have to bring it back right away," said Miss Lyons opening a notebook on her desk. "But I should ask you a few questions while you are here."

"Of course," said Hermione.

"Does you family have any history of health problems?"

"Not that I know of," Hermione said.

"Fathers name?"

"Arnold Granger."

"The child's father's name," said Miss Lyons patiently. 

Hermione knew this was coming. She has imagined several excuses. It still made her nervous.

"Unknown," Hermione lied, hoping it didn't show on her face.

"Unknown?" Miss Lyons raised her eyebrows. Hermione fidgeted. "Do you even know if he was a wizard? The child will be very hard if we don't know about his breeding."

Hermione felt heat rise in her face. This was her child, not a hound. Her nostrils flared.

"He was a Deatheater," Hermione said hotly. "I would assume he comes from only the finest stock."

"Of course," said Miss Lyons, scribbling furiously. "Well, we should be able to place the child quickly."

"Really?" asked Hermione. What types of people were looking at adopting? Who was this woman thinking about tossing her child at?

"As long as you choose a family soon," said Miss Lyons. "The further along the pregnancy, the more difficult."

"Why?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"The family will want to pass the child off as their own," Miss Lyons. "Bit difficult to do if the child just appears one day."

Hermione was astonished. What did they do? Wear prosthetics? Stay out of sight and blame it on a weak constitution? What an odd tradition.

"I see," she said weakly.

"I suggest you take your time on the contract," Miss Lyons said. "Some people find parts of it difficult to understand."

"I don't think it will be a problem," Hermione said, now quite annoyed. She rose from her chair, her slightly protruding belly swelling her robes.

"Make an appointment with the secretary on your way out," said Miss Lyons, shaking her hand with a plastic smile. "Whenever it is convenient for you."

"Thank you," said Hermione. 

She walked back to the door and back into the dingy waiting room. She made an appointment for a week in the future. That should give her plenty of time with the contract.

The cool London air hit her cheeks as she walked outside. She felt her dress cling to her as the wind whipped by, making her belly more pronounced than ever. She put a hand on her belly, as if to protect the child from the cold. She pulled her coat closed. 

Whoever thought it would end up like this?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Authors note: Please review. This was the result of a conversation with loopyloonyluna, so thank her as well. :)


	2. Proglogue Part 2

Chances Prologue Part 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sat once again in the stark white office. She wasn't sure she liked Miss Lyons. 

A black portfolio of families lay in front of her. It seemed a little too thin for her comfort.

"We normally don't let it out of the building," said Miss Lyons. "But if you promise to have it back by Tuesday I'm sure it won't be missed."

"Thank you," said Hermione. She wasn't sure a few moments were enough to decide who should raise her child. She tucked the portfolio in her bag and bade her goodbyes.

Hermione pulled the hood of her voluminous jacket up as she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron. 

The streets were crowded as usual and the sky overcast.

"Supposed to be bloody spring," she heard a man selling newspapers mutter as a few stray drops spiderwebbed through the newsprint he had displayed. She had bought a glossy fashion magazine from him and carried on her way.

The Leaky Cauldron was packed, as usual. Hermione was thankful no one she knew was there. It would be better not to have to make any excuses.

Hermione waded through the crowd, picking a bottle of Butterbeer up on her way to the back of the tavern. Tom had private rooms back here, for a price. People used them for private parties, meetings, afternoon dalliances, whatever the like.

The key she held matched a pattern on one of the doors. She carefully turned it in the lock and heard a mechanism that didn't sound like any lock she had ever heard grind and clunk into place. The doorknob turned easily in her hand.

The room was dark, a thin dark curtain pulled over the dingy window. The sillohette of a man sitting in a chair seemed to be the only dressing in the room. Blue smoke swirled in the filtered light. The soft clicking of wooden pipe stem against teeth resounded in the room.

"Did you bring the forms?" the shadowed figure asked.

"Yes," said Hermione. She handed over the portfolio and the man lay it on the small table in front of him.

"Well," he said, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "Let's get this over with."


	3. Chapter 1

AN: Wicklowe: There's a challenge for this? Where? Lol!
    
    To everyone else: I'm a Sociology Major. Hopefully one day I will be a social worker. This fic is fluffy and cuddly compared to some of the case studies I've read. Rape is real. Pregnancy is real. Fics are a fun little hobby.
    
    Consider social work, the world needs help.
    
    If you take any fic seriously I suggest you turn off your computer and seek counseling.
    
    Chances Chapter 1
    
    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione pulled her reading glasses off her nose. To her annoyance she found she needed them as she entered her thirties. She squinted at the small writing in front of her and shook her head.

Neville was working on this third book: _Tentaculas__ of the Congo, _and had begged her to be the first reader. His writing hadn't improved over the years, but for some reason had gotten quite a bit smaller.

She looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was a half-hour until dinner. The first years would be arriving any moment, now. She walked across the room she occupied in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and looked out her window.

The torches flickered out over the water of the lake, the reflection pooling out around the boats. It seemed like there were more boats than ever this year. Minerva had been thrilled.

The Final Battle had happened a year after the attack on Hermione. Thankfully, her birth had been easy and she had been well enough to participate. She was there when Harry and Voldemort fell. The Potter line was legend now.

It seemed as if more and more children flooded the halls of Hogwarts every year. More and more Muggleborne children were admitted each year; curiously, all generally from the area the Final Battle had taken place. Dumbledore had a theory that the residual magic in the area caused recessive magic users to blossom. Filch had gone to see for himself and, to the delight of the Hogwarts students, was never heard from again. Rumor said he had settled down with a nice hag in Lancashire and they were breeding nifflers together.

Hermione let her focus draw back and she examined her reflection. A few stray silver hairs intertwined in her hair, but not many. Her hair was still curly, but she had gotten a handle on its unruliness. A few freckles dotted her face here and there and her eyes were beginning to get small crinkles at their corners. She had aged fairly well.

This was another time when she had thought of the boy she had given up.

His defiant squall had broken her heart, but she had known it was the right thing. The Deatheaters were on the rise. Her parents were dead. It had been hard to find employment out of school and they probably would have starved, she had known that. It probably was for the best.

Then there were times like this: the boats moving over the lake, Ron's eldest receiving his first training broom, Ginnys little ones learning to hex each other, that made her heart ache with longing just to _know_.

Many Wizarding families had perished in the years after Hermione had given birth. Some had fled to Europe. There was no telling where he was, or even _if_ he was anymore. She had called him Stanley, but she wondered what his name had become. 

She shook her head. It was a waste of energy.

It was time to get ready to meet the new students.


	4. Chapter 2

AN: I have never given a child up for adoption. I am adopted, however. I am praying I am writing this right.

Chances Chapter 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione took her place at the head table and waited for the First Years. The older students filtered into the hall and made their way to their House tables. A few students waved in her direction. She waved back, her smile a little strained.

Eventually, the First Years followed Professor McGonagall in the Great Hall. Hermione chuckled to herself and wondered if she ever had looked that young. One girl with glasses was biting her nails.

Flitwick pointed out a short dark haired girl.

"Wood's girl," he said.

"Oliver?" Hermione asked. "I had no idea he had children."

Hermione knew there were probably teachers already betting on whether she'd shape up to be a Quidditch player. She sighed inwardly.

Her eyes skimmed the crowd and she froze. She wanted to run from the room, but she felt frozen in place. Her limbs had turned to ice. She expected to wake up, but she didn't.

A head of unruly dark hair bobbed happily on top of features that could have been her grandfathers. There were a few differences, of course. The eyes were darker, the skin paler, a slight difference in bone structure.

She didn't even hear the Sorting Hat's song and was shaken out of her trance by the thunderous applause at its end.

"Best song yet," Flitwick said, jostling Hermione's elbow. She clapped her hands and smiled weakly.

"Allison, Thomas," McGonagall announced loudly. 

Hermione watched as a small blonde boy made his way to the front of the crowd. The hat nearly covered his face entirely and before long it announced loudly:_ "Gryffindor!"_

She was going to find out his name. He might not even know he was adopted. She wondered if he was happy where he was placed. 

The family they had chosen had looked happy. Middle-aged and plump their picture had waved cheerfully. A sheepdog lay in the background, napping in the sun.

"Malfoy, Christopher," Hermione was stunned to see the boy approach the stool and watched as McGonagall placed the hat on his head. 

_"Ravenclaw!"_

Something had gone terribly wrong.


	5. Chapter 3

AN: To answer questions….. 

I am 27. My mother was 14 when I was born. Doing the math and thinking a bit, I'm guessing she was 13 when I was conceived. She is my hero, even though I know she had many faults. I will probably never know her name, but I love her fiercely. She was brave enough to bear me and brave enough to give me up. What an incredible woman.

My father was older and refused to believe I was his. I would not be half as annoyed at him if he had admitted what he did (her parents weren't interested in statutory rape charges) and either married her or helped her. He did nothing but make her life hell. For this, he should be strung up by his winky and used as a piñata. (But, I hear she may have forgiven him and I may have siblings out there. Go figure:)

As for the hair thing…I have a single white hair from the top of my head. I have had it for 13 years and have gotten no more. (Knock on wood…) Most of my friends are younger than me and have white streaking and peppering. I have two friends that were half white by the time they hit 24. I think Hermione was probably exposed to a lot of stress during the last years of Voldemort. She had to deal with a war, the death of a friend, and gave birth to a child as the result being violated, besides the adoption itself. She's a strong chicka.

Chances Ch. 3

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione stormed down the stone corridor after the feast was over and all the children had been sent to their prospective common rooms.

She stopped abruptly in front of a stone phoenix and barked: "Sugar Quill." She continued stomping up the stairs and banged on Dumbledore's door.

"Enter," said Dumbledore, slightly muffled from the other side of the door. 

She entered and saw Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick sitting in front of his desk. How could she have not thought the heads of house would be convening after the sorting?

"I'm terribly sorry," said Hermione, calming herself a bit. "I'll come back later."

"We're very nearly done," said Dumbledore. "Just a few class changes to accommodate all the First Years."

"Wonderful group we've got this year," squeaked Flitwick happily. Hermione smiled weakly at him.

"I'll be with you in a moment, Hermione," Dumbledore said over the top of his gold wire-rimmed spectacles.

Hermione skimmed some of the titles without really reading them on one of Dumbledore's bookshelves. She finally chose a book with a blue cover and sat in an armchair off to the side. She opened it and turned a page from time to time to give the appearance of reading. The words had no meaning for her. 

She tried to keep from glancing up frequently in annoyance. The meeting seemed to go on for hours and the clock on the wall seemed to have slowed to a pace a snail could creep laps around.

Finally, the class schedules were settled and the Heads of House filed out. Hermione rose and sat in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, her book still in her hand. She waited patiently as Dumbledore finished jotting down notes and he looked up to smile at her.

"I had no idea you were interested in plumbing," Dumbledore remarked.

Hermione looked down and saw the title of her book: _Easy Bathroom Improvements._ It was a Muggle publisher. Good Lord, she was flustered.

"Just something new," she said weakly. 

Suddenly, she had no idea what she was going to say. She had no proof, just intuition. What if it was just a coincidence?

"Would you mind if I borrowed your pensive?" Hermione said. "I would like you to see something."

"Of course," said Dumbledore, mildly surprised. He rose and went to a wooden cupboard. There were several pensives of different size inside. He selected one the size of a cereal bowl and handed it to Hermione. "Is this large enough?"

"Quite," said Hermione wryly. In her opinion a swimming pool wasn't large enough for memories of this magnitude.

She pulled a few wispy thoughts from her head and placed them in the bowl. She stirred them liberally and handed the bowl to Dumbledore.

"Hermione, if this is personal-," Dumbledore began.

"Albus," said Hermione, her chin set stubbornly. "I have known you for twenty years. Look in the damn pensive."

He raised his eyebrows slightly and leaned over into the small bowl, his silver hair spilling over his desk. If the situation had not had Hermione in such a state she would laughed at the sight before her. He looked like Crookshanks trying to get the last few drops of milk out of a bowl.

After a few minutes, in which Hermione replaced the book on the shelf to have something to do, Dumbledore raised his head. He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and looked at her.

"Well," he said. "That was most interesting."

"Thought it might be," said Hermione in a sarcastic tone that didn't suit her.

"What are you suggesting I do?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," said Hermione. "Can we find out what happened?"

"Hermione," said Dumbledore. "There _is_ more than one Malfoy family in the whole of England."

"Wizarding families?" Hermione challenged.

"Malfoy is a French name," Dumbledore said patiently. "Perhaps this is the first of the line to come through Hogwarts. Perhaps the family normally employs private tutors."

Hermione let her breath out, deflated and discouraged.

"You're right, Professor," Hermione said.

"We did discuss the probability of this happening," said Dumbledore, reaching out a hand and lifting the lid on a small covered glass dish full of lemon drops. Hermione took one and sucked on it. It clacked loudly on her teeth in the large quiet office.

"We did," said Hermione. "But I don't remember this particular probability coming up."

"Life often is unpredictable," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Quite," said Hermione, sighing. "I'm sorry for wasting your time." 

She retrieved the pensive and replaced her memories.

"It was a reasonable concern," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly. "Perfectly understandable."

"Thank you," said Hermione weakly as she rose to leave his office.


	6. Chapter 4

AN: Thank everyone for the reviews. (Especially Emma-Kitty and Screecheif who review everything I write :)

I am trying to get this right. If there are any people that have given their children up for adoption (even men), or know anyone who has, please contact me. I can only speak from the adopted child's perspective and only can base this story off my own experiences.

I also am unclear about abortion rights and history in the UK. If I really blow it feel free to flame me. I am OK with flaming as long as I'm not called dumb or told to stop writing.

Chances Chapter 4

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione took the longest route possible to get to her rooms. Her mind chewed over all that had happened in the last couple of hours.

Term hadn't even started yet. 

'Well,' Hermione thought as she turned the corner. 'At least life isn't boring.'

Hermione stopped at a portrait of _Sir Ulrich of the Thistle. _ The hidden door was cracked open slightly. 

She frowned and pulled her wand out of her sleeve. The war was over, but that didn't mean there were no grudges.

Hermione kicked her door open and cried: "Lumos!" 

The idea of calling for backup crossed her mind too late as the room flooded with light.

A tall figure dressed in black shielded his eyes. His hands were empty and the lower half of his face was wincing. 

Hermione relaxed a little and said: _"Finite Incantatum." _

Her wand faded out and her eyes adjusted to the single candle that had lit the room before she had burst in. The door clicked softly behind her and she tucked her wand away.

"Can I help you?" Hermione asked, sounding slightly annoyed. The room was mostly dark now and she hoped she had the ability to recall the layout of her parlor. It would really annoy her if she tripped in the dark.

The man didn't answer, but leaned back on the desk, blocking out the little light and silhouetting himself.

Hermione fumbled until she felt the knob on the wall that turned up the gas to her wall lamps. Soft yellow light filled the room and Severus Snape threw her a dirty look.

"Honestly," Hermione said, shaking her head. "One of these days you're going to get jinxed, skulking around like that."

"I wasn't skulking," he snapped.

"Fine," she said. "Breaking and entering, for starters."

He rolled his eyes at her and she crossed her arms at him.

"Loitering," she said.

"Loitering?"

"Whatever," Hermione said dismissively. "I take it there's a reason you're here?"

"I think we both know," Snape said levelly. "I can count as well as you."

Hermione let out a breath.

"Yes," she said walking to a brown ceramic tea service in a corner. "I suppose you can. Tea?"

"Is it necessary?" Snape asked stiffly.

"Yes," said Hermione over her shoulder. 

She threw a quick glance his way and saw him slump for a moment, as if someone had placed a heavy weight on his shoulders. She felt a pang of pity for him. She fixed a pot of tea, waving her wand at the pot to get the water hot. She heard the leather of her couch crinkle as he sat down behind her.

When she turned around his severe demeanor had all but dropped. His face was plastered with a half-hearted sneer, but his skin was slightly green and his eyes seemed to be staring off into space.

"Severus-," Hermione began.

"Which one was he?" Snape asked flatly.

"Severus-," Hermione said her voice a bit insistent.

"Which one?" Snape focused her beetle-black eyes on her. 

"Drink your tea," Hermione snapped as she sat beside him, handing him a cup and saucer. 

Snape looked a bit startled as he took the cup from her. He sniffed at it suspiciously and watched her as he took a sip.

"I can't prove it, but I think the child arrived tonight," Hermione said stiffly.

"My son," Snape said levelly.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"What makes you think so?" Severus asked, placing his teacup on the low table near the couch they were sitting on. Hermione suspected it was destined to become stone cold and 

wasted.

"I should have borrowed a pensieve from Dumbledore," Hermione muttered. This was not going the way she imagined at all.

"I have one," Snape said. "Does it matter who it belongs to?"

"Of course not," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Is it in your office?"

"Yes," said Snape slowly.

"I'll get it," she offered, leaping to her feet. Snape frowned at her.

"I could use the exercise," Hermione said a little too off-handedly. Really, she just wanted to flee or storm around a bit more. She wasn't prepared to deal with Snape yet.

"Exercise later," Snape said levelly and with a wave of his wand, conjured a pensieve.

Hermione stared at the stone bowl for a moment before she sighed and reached for it.

"You act as if this is a chore," Snape accused.

"I just did this for Dumbledore," Hermione said, not caring about Snapes reaction anymore. He raised his eyebrows suspiciously.

Hermione ignored him and began putting thoughts in the bowl. When she was done she passed it to him and waited. He looked at her warily, but placed the bowl on the table and lowered his face to it.

Hermione sipped at her tea and waved her wand at his to heat it up a bit. He may want it in a moment.

"Malfoy!?" Snape thundered as his face shot up out of the bowl.

"Tea?" Hermione offered, motioning to his cup.

"Have anything harder?" Snape asked, his face a kaleidoscope of emotion. Hermione pointed her wand at his cup and a shot of Firewhisky poured into his tea from its end.

He drained it in a gulp. Hermione shook her head and refilled his cup with tea and Firewhisky.

"Won't do to be hung over the first day of term," Hermione said warningly.

"I doubt anyone will notice," Snape said snapped sarcastically, but he sipped at his second cup.

Hermione sipped at her cup, praying she could make it last. She didn't want to pour herself a second cup, but knew she tended to sip when she was nervous. She certainly was nervous now. 

She looked at him over the edge of her cup. He scowled at her.

"I don't remember the name 'Malfoy' coming up when we were choosing," Snape muttered and took a deeper drink from his cup.

"Now's not the time to fall off the wagon, Severus," Hermione remarked.

"Good a time as any," Snape said as he waved his wand and enlarged his cup to the size of a small fishbowl. Hermione waved her wand and shrunk it back to its regular size.

"At least wait for the weekend," Hermione said annoyed. "I don't want to have to cover double classes the first week of term."

Severus placed his teacup on the table near the bowl and slumped down in the couch. Hermione reached over and retrieved her thoughts. She placed them back in her head and watched Snape scowl in silence.

"At least he's a Ravenclaw," Snape finally said.

"Yes," Hermione said placing the pensieve down with a thunk. "Flitwick is a good man. He'll keep a sharp eye on anyone named 'Malfoy.'"

She thought for a moment before putting a shot of Firewhisky in her own cup. She sipped it slowly, feeling it warm her up. Snape watched her, but didn't comment.

"I'm sorry," Snape blurted out.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked with a frown on her face.

"This whole mess is my fault," Snape rubbed his eyes with one of his hands. Hermione couldn't believe how old he looked, for a moment.

"Hardly," Hermione said, looking at him as if he were showing signs of madness. "We were both under the Imperius Curse if I remember right. I'm just as much to blame as you."

"I should have been able to resist it," Severus muttered, more to himself than to Hermione, she suspected.

"There were five Deatheaters and two of us," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "I was amazed you managed to get off a lubrication spell before-"

"Yes, yes," Snape said uncomfortably. 

This was the first time they had talked about what had happened. Other than Hermione showing up at his doorstep, informing him of her pregnancy and informing him she was having the child and giving it up. He was too startled to object and a bit amazed she had decided to carry the child. They had never talked of the incident itself.

"Anyway," Hermione said shifting her weight. "It was both of our faults, if you want to think of it that way, and over a decade ago. Stop being so morose."

Snape grumbled something Hermione couldn't quite make out and drained his cup.

"He looks happy, Severus," Hermione said as she reached for a fluttering paper airplane that darted down her floo. 

She unfolded it and scanned her schedule of classes. She wouldn't see the boy until Tuesday. It looked like Snape would have him tomorrow. She prayed he wouldn't be strange around the boy. She passed the schedule to Snape although she knew he probably had his own copy waiting for him in his own rooms.

"Well," said Snape, clapping his hands to his knees and rising after he studied the schedule. "We'll see who he takes after before long."

Hermione wondered what that meant as he stormed, staggering slightly, out of her rooms.


	7. Chapter 5

Chances Chapter 5

Hermione was happy to see young Christopher carrying a _'Simple Satchel'_ on his first day. The advertisement claimed it had the holding capability of two normal book bags and was guaranteed to reduce its weight by 65.

'See who he took after, indeed,' Hermione thought a bit imperiously.

Then she watched him sour a house mate's milk when the other boy's back was turned. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She was glad he was Flitwick's charge.

Snape uncharacteristically took a seat near her.

"Before you over react," Snape began under his breath. He had already begun to annoy her and she hadn't even had a bite yet. The day was off to a wonderful start. "The other boy is a Sixth Year. He used little discretion when divulging information about his summer romance concerning a Hufflepuff Fourth Year to his house mates. She was quite distressed."

Hermione looked at Snape out of the corner of her eye for a moment. Then she nodded firmly. Once.

This was going to be a lot harder than she expected.

&&

Snape swooped into his classroom, frightening the flock of First Years as usual.

He did notice as he turned to face the paled faces that his own son was tucking something into his bag. The boy had heard him, but had not even noted his foreboding presence.

Snape frowned.

"Who here can tell me the uses of Adder venom?" Snape barked out. This was addling. He didn't even say his usual intimidating speech.

To his horror, the boy's hand shot up. He stretched towards the ceiling, his face attentive.

It was going to be a long eight years.

&&

"Can anyone site the significance and event associated with the Underage Wizarding Act?" Professor Granger asked her class.

She sat on the edge of her desk, smiling at the First Years. She crossed her legs under her robes and tried to appear relaxed.

They shifted nervously under her gaze. Quite a few of them were muggle born and had never been exposed to wizard history. What she was trying to determine was who had opened their books yet.

A few hands rose. Christopher's was among them.

Hermione all but smirked. This was going to be an interesting term.

&&

Lunch during the first week of term was always a bustling affair. The students buzzed excitedly amongst themselves about new classes and teachers, who they liked and didn't, and most of all, what to expect.

The teachers table was no exception to the excitement. Thankfully, it gave Hermione and Snape the chance to talk freely without being overheard or noticed.

"Overly bright," Snape sniffed.

Hermione snorted. He fixed her with a piercing gaze that might have frightened her, had she been a first year again. She rolled her eyes at Snape and his expression turned to annoyance before he fixed his attention on the bowl of potato soup in front of him.

"Really, Severus. The next thing you know, you'll be calling him a know-it –all."

Snape grumbled something indiscernible into his soup. Hermione ignored him.

"Did you find out anything about his family?" Hermione asked, reaching for an apple.

"Not as much," Snape said as he gazed out over the eating students. "He seems to be thoughtful. If he is related to the Malfoys you are familiar with, it's probably distant."

"You can't judge someone's upbringing by their manners," Hermione argued. "He seems to be bright. Perhaps he's a black sheep?"

"Perhaps you're being paranoid," Snape snapped.

Hermione threw him a dirty look, but remained silent.

&&

Christopher lay on his bed in Ravenclaw tower, going over his potions notes and tentatively nibbling on candy from a colorful box of Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans. He made a face as a nearly acidic taste touched his tongue.

"Don't know why you bother," Caleb Johnson sulked from over at his desk. The stocky blonde boy was nearly a head taller than Christopher. A book on Wizarding history lay open in front of him.

"I like surprises," Christopher shrugged, without looking up.

"Not the beans," Caleb sighed. Sometimes if he didn't know any better he would think Christopher was being deliberately thick. "The books."

"I like books," Christopher said.

"Doesn't mean you have to live with your nose in them," Caleb said, annoyed.

"Well, curfew is in effect, I have an essay due next week, and there's nothing else to do," Christopher said sarcastically as he turned a page. "I suppose in a few years I can transfigure us a hang-glider and we can make a break, but I need to hone my skills a bit to get there."

Caleb stared at Christopher for a moment. Just because their mothers were second cousins didn't mean he had to put up with cryptic muggle references.

Thank god, his other roommates seemed to be obsessed with Quidditch and gob stones. There were seven of them in their dormitory room. Flitwick had suggested splitting them into two rooms, but finally decided to expand the size of their dorm room to twice the size as normal to accommodate the boys and their pets.

Christopher looked up at the sound of crumpling paper and dodged a ball of crumpled parchment hurling at his head. He threw a bean at Caleb in response and snickered as it bounced off the other boy's cheek.

"Ants!" a high-pitched voice cried out.

"We can't get ants up here," Christopher sighed as Duncan McGregor scrabbled for the piece of candy. "The house elves would find it when they clean tomorrow. Even if they didn't, the castles probably enchanted from ant attacks,"

"What's a house elf?" Duncan asked, confused.

Caleb and Christopher looked at each other. They knew Duncan was from a muggle family, but how clueless was he?

Christopher quickly explained house elves, their place in society, and their purpose.

Duncan nodded thoughtfully.

"So the freed ones have their own town?" Duncan asked. He reached for an atlas on his shelf. "Where is it?"

Caleb frowned as Duncan opened the atlas.

"Oi!" Caleb protested. "Half the places are missing."

"It's probably a muggle atlas," Christopher said, reaching for his satchel. He pulled out a thin red book and opened it. It seemed to be a lot larger when it was opened. With hundreds of more pages.

"Incredible," Duncan breathed.

Caleb rolled his eyes as the other two rattled on about places Duncan had never heard of. Two brains in one room. Maybe he'd talk to Flitwick about that separate room, after all.


End file.
